


Cut And Run

by khorybannefin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khorybannefin/pseuds/khorybannefin
Summary: The reader struggles with depression, and rather than tell her friends, she runs.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Cut And Run

**Author's Note:**

> This was something i was working through. There's gonna be trauma. I'm sorry.

Cut And Run  
Cast: Reader, Castiel, Dean, Sam

Author: khorybannefin

Author Gender: Female

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 3400

Summary: Reader has a breakdown and rather than tell her partners she just runs.

Warnings: TRIGGER self harm, depression, anxiety, suicide (by negligence)

A/N: I’m in a place today where I need to work through this. It’s gonna hurt. I’m sorry.

“Where have you been?” Dean looked up from the book in front of him and have you the once over. He obviously didn’t see anything.

“Out,” you replied, not stopping on your way to your room.

It was a true answer, though not a complete one. It was never a complete one anymore. You’d even gotten to the point you didn’t even feel guilty about not telling your partners the full truth of what was going on. If they knew they’d just worry, or worst yet be angry.

You hadn’t slept last night. You’d left the bunker at about three in the morning, hoping if you walked long enough your exhausted body would overwhelm the rabid circle of your thoughts. You kept worrying through the same three thoughts over and over. You hated yourself a little bit more with every rotation. Not because they were bad thoughts, and they definitely were, but because you couldn’t stop them.

You’d taken a notebook with you, and once you’d walked far enough that the muscles in your legs started twitching you sat down. You’d walked all the way through town and out into the country on the other side. You were sitting with your back against a hay bale in some random farmers field. The moon was high and full, casting what amounted to almost daylight. Plenty bright enough for you to write.

“Dear Sam and Dean, I know this is going to come as a shock to both of you but I’m dead. ..”

No no no. Could you be a little more blunt? Page crumpled and start again.

“Dear boys, I’m sorry to do this to you but I couldn’t help it…”

No. No excuses. If you’re going to do this then own it.

“My dear friends. I wish I could explain why this needs to happen and why I’ve left you to deal with it. ..”

*No! You know what? A note isn’t going to help. They’re still going to have to deal with disposing of your corpse and nothing you say will make them understand. You chickened out. When it comes right down to it you’re a weak little coward and worthless as a Hunter. But what else are you going to do with your life? No actual job skills, at least not legal ones. You going to quit the life? Get married and have kids? Who would want you? You’re already a failure at this and you want to inflict yourself on another person? And kids? With everything you know that exists in the world you really want to bring children into it? Not just stupid but cruel too. You’re sick. You’re sick and fucking hopeless. And yet you can’t even bring yourself to end it because you feel like you owe somebody answers. Like telling people how worthless you are is some sort of news flash. You think the boys haven’t noticed that you’ve fucked up the last three hunts? You almost got Sam killed and then you managed to become a hostage the next two times. They had to save you. The bigger question is why they even bothered. You’re a liability. They’d be better, safer, without you. *

Every word was full of venom and all of it was true. You sat in a field watching blood drip from the cuts on your inner thighs, the color strangely almost black in the moonlight. They were short, only two or three inches long and just deep enough to hurt, to bleed. You pinched at the cuts, digging your nails in, eyes closed, trying to let the pain take over and drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t stop. You knew it was going to have to end. You couldn’t take it anymore. The note wouldn’t help so the best you could do was leave. You’d just go. Pack a bag, maybe, and leave your useless carcass in some shithole motel. Let them think you died on a hunt.

You’d made your decision, your plan, and you felt strangely light. It would be over soon. You walked back to the bunker, letting your thighs rub together, irritating the wounds and letting the sweat sting. There would be blood on your jeans, but only Dean was up and in the bunker. Sam was probably out running. Dean didn’t notice anything wrong as you passed through and headed for your room.

You looked around when you got there. You tried to find some sort of meaning in the few possessions scattered around. You’d never been one to nest. You never kept anything sentimental. This room could be anyone’s. Now it belonged to no one. You hoped the boys would find another partner. A better one than you had been. You thought about packing a bag, but you wouldn’t need any of it. You turned around and walked back out, leaving everything as it was.

Back through the halls you went, this time going for the garage. As you picked a set of keys off the peg board Dean popped his head out the door.

“Hey if you’re going to town were out of beer.”

“Got it.”

You didn’t even slow down, throwing the confirmation over your shoulder. If Dean thought you was shopping it would give you some time before they worried or came after you. Time to make some distance.

You got into one of the nondescript sedans and headed out. About a mile down the road you stopped and put your phone under the tires, destroying it. You used one of your fake cards in town to pull some cash and left all the cards in a trash can next to the atm. You ditched all of your ID as well, except for one so you could check into the motel. You drove erratically, not going straight anywhere. You switched cars several times. Finally you ended up in West Virginia in a town with a paper mill in it. The while place smelled like a hamster cage.

But the room was cheap. You paid cash for a week. Once in the room you cut yourself good and smeared wards everywhere, even putting a demon trap above the door. You were pretty sure you had ditched the boys, and with this they couldn’t send Cas or Crowley after you either. No one would find you, or stop you. You turned on the television, got in bed and stayed there.

You got up only to go to the bathroom, but after the first two days that stopped. The hunger you just ignored until it went away too. When the voice in your head got ugly you cut to shut it up, but never deep enough for it to solve anything. The sheets were covered in blood. You didn’t care. You’d done nothing about any of the wounds you’d inflicted since that night in the field. Some of them had gotten infected to the point that they smelled. Who cares. Blood poisoning would probably kill you faster. Less wait since you were too chicken to do it.

After the fourth day you didn’t do anything. Just laid there, too tired to move. When you were awake you had vertigo and couldn’t think. You kept lapsing into unconsciousness, and every time you prayed you wouldn’t wake up. Every time you opened your eyes you cried inside. You were too dehydrated to cry real tears anymore. You drifted, waiting and praying for death.

You barely heard it when the door exploded inward, letting in sunlight that stung your eyes. You could barely see anyway. You didn’t recognize or fight when Sam picked you up, crying and calling your name. You weren’t capable of answering even if you wanted to.

*******

“Hey Sam?” Dean caught Sam coming back from his run. “You see Y/N while you were out? She was acting weird. Left to get beer and hasn’t been back. It’s been almost an hour.”

“I didn’t see her,” Sam shrugged. “You try calling her?”

“Yeah. Voicemail. I don’t know Sammy. I got a real bad feeling about this.”

Dean went to check your room. Nothing was moved, no helpful note lying around. There was some blood on the floor though. Not much, but fresh. He went and grabbed Sam.

“She ain’t packed or anything but there’s blood on the floor leading all the way from the front, to her room, and back out to the garage. Why was she bleeding, huh? Why wouldn’t she tell me if she was hurt?”

Sam shook his head. He didn’t have a good answer for Dean. Dean liked spending time relaxing in his room. He was a social person, but that meant that he enjoyed his private time when he got some. Sam on the other hand paid a bit more attention. He’d noticed you pulling away, spending more and more time in your room. You’d decline to go out with them more often than not ands your performance on hunts had suffered. Something was clearly wrong, but he hadn’t pursued it. Why not? He couldn’t answer that either.

“Let me see if I can ping her phone.” Sam went to the computer. The GPS wasn’t putting off a signal, but he could see the last tower it bounced off of. He and Dean went out and found your phone in bits in the road.

“Sammy I don’t like this. What if something got her?”

“Well if they did they needed money. One of her cards was used at the atm in town.”

They followed the money trail, which should have ended at the bank. They got a couple more hits, tracing the cards to a homeless woman who’d been hitting every atm she could find and drawing the max cash she could. When they finally found her she was high as a kite and surrounded by hamburger wrappers. She was just coherent enough to tell them she’d found the whole pile in the trash. Dean was really worried and expressed it by being pissed.

“What the hell Sammy! Is she crazy? Why would she wreck her phone and ditch all her cards?”

“If I had to guess I'd say she didn’t want to be found.” Sam was tapping away, tracing the car. It was too old to have a GPS system, which meant he had to track the plate. It popped up just over the state line.

“Looks like she’s been ditching cars too. Got our plate and another one reported stolen.”

The brothers bounced from state to state, back and forth, never finding a pattern or direction. Sammy kept checking with local police, see if anyone had seen her. Dean was checking hospitals, seeing if there was a Jane Doe that might be her. They worked for days and seemed to be spinning their wheels. The trail went cold. In desperation they prayed to Cas.

“I can not find her.” The dark haired angel said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Her soul is not in Heaven, so she still lives, but wherever she is she has hidden herself from me. I’m sorry.”

“C'mon Cas,” Dean was desperate. “You’ve gotta be able to come up with something man.”

“Cas what about tracking her through other people?” Sam asked. “I mean you can track a stolen car through traffic cameras. Can’t you search for images of her in others minds?”

“I can try, but it may take some time.”

“If it helps any she was last seen in a silver Honda Civic heading east.”

Cas nodded and his face went blank, his consciousness ranging far from his vessel. Dean paced the motel, inwardly cursing himself for being such a bad friend. Things had obviously been wrong for a long time and he hadn’t even noticed. He blamed himself for this. Sam’s thoughts were running much the same. He had noticed, true, but hadn’t pursued it, hadn’t asked what the problem was. It was like he didn’t care and that was farthest from the truth. Mere minutes later Cas snapped upright, naked fear on his face.

“She’s in a motel in West Virginia.”

“Wow. That was faster than I thought it would be.”

“I didn’t find her. She prayed. She’s praying for death! I can see the motel but she had to have warded the room. We have to hurry!”

Castiel didn’t let the boys respond before he grabbed them both and flew to the parking lot. The boys crashed in the sudden stop but headed straight for the office.

“You seen this girl?” Dean was leaning over the counter, aggressively shoving a picture of you at the man there. “Her life is in danger! What room is she in?”

“Fff- fifteen. ..” the poor clerk stuttered in fear.

The three men took off, pounding down the hallway. They knocked frantically at the door, calling your name and receiving no response.

“Dean,” Castiel spoke up. “I smell a severe infection inside.” Dean and Sam looked at each other and simultaneously kicked the door. It blew entirely off it’s hinges, landing in the middle of the floor.

The sight that met their eyes was a horror show worse than any hunt. The room reeked of waste and rotting flesh, an infection gone putrescent with neglect. A shriveled body lay in the bed, eyes staring at nothing. For a moment they stood in shock.

Then Sam cried out and lunged for the bed, tears in his eyes. He picked you up in his arms and you weighed nearly nothing. He was calling your name, brushing brittle dry hair away from your face.

“Cas! Help her!”

“My god, is she even alive?” Dean took one of your thin hands in his. “C'mon Y/N. It’s Dean. C'mon look at me!”

“She’s alive but barely.” Castiel responded, touching you. You felt something like a rush of ice water flow through you. You didn’t hurt as much.

“She wants to die. Has been waiting to die.” Castiel voice was choked with a grief he’d never felt. “I’ve healed the wounds and the poisoning but she needs a hospital. She’s had no sustenance in eight days. She will need to be replenished slowly.”

“Then let’s go already!”

Cas zapped them to the nearest emergency room where the boys made an absolute scene getting you taken care of. Your condition was so severe that they sedated you before inserting a catheter and pushing fluids. You absorbed three bags of saline in less than an hour, and the toxins that flushed from you were extreme. When you woke you were restrained, soft cuffs chaining you to the bed. You felt horrible, but you were alive. Realizing it you started to cry, struggling weakly against the bonds.

“No no no! I was so close why… why. …”

The boys stood. They’d been with you for days, taking turns watching you as you slowly began to flesh back out. You had a feeding tube in addition to the saline drip. The restraints were of course because of why you were in that state. They didn’t want you to start yanking things out when you came to. Your eyes found them when they moved.

“Why did you stop me?” You bawled. “Just let me go! I just want to go. ..”

“Y/N why would you do this? God why wouldn’t you talk to us?” Sammy had your cold, fragile hand in his huge paws, tears in his big puppy dog eyes.

“Dammit girl we love you! We’re family. You don’t let family just check out like that. What were you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you turned your face away from them both, crying at the wall.

Pain beat through you. Every part of you hurt, but you could feel the difference. This wasn’t the pain before death. This was the agony of being saved. You didn’t want to be saved. You didn’t know how you’d even been found. You’d been so careful. You hadn’t noticed Castiel was in the room until he spoke.

“You prayed,” Cas responded to your unspoken question. “You were praying for death, praying so sincerely that it cut past the sigils.”

“You should have left me there.” Your voice an agonized whisper as fat tears rolled down your face.

“No fuck that,” Dean responded furiously. “You ain’t going out that way. We won’t let you. I don’t know what the problem is but we are going to fix it. You don’t get to leave, not like this.”

“You’re not my father Dean. You don’t get to decide for me.”

“We’re your family.” Sam brought your hands up and kissed your fingers. “We love you. We’re not just going to watch you in pain. Family stays together, even when it’s hard. It might take some time but we’re gonna get through this. We’ll help you, be there for you. That’s what family does.”

You just started at him as he spoke, your insides hollow. Words. So many words. He didn’t understand. None of them did. You didn’t belong in this world, in this life, in their family. It was all wasted on you. You turned your head to the wall again, feeling despair rising up to choke you. You let it drag you under, back into black sleep.

******

“What’s the verdict, Doc? Can we take her home or what?” Dean was shuffling in the hallway, clearly antsy. The doctor spoke calmly, trying to sooth him.

“She has recovered from the physical damage, but I’m more concerned with her mental state. She was barely eating until we advised her that we would not be removing the tube unless she proved she could take care of herself. I believe her only motivation to be released is so that we won’t be able to force her to continue living. I’m not at all certain that going home is best for her health at this point.”

“So what do we do?” Sam asked, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “Is there some sort of medicine or counseling that will help her?”

“Counseling will be part of the process. I’ve been including several antidepressants in her treatment but such things take at least two weeks to reach the proper levels. Even then they may not be effective. Though we understand much of the human brain and the chemical causes of mental illness there is still a certain amount of trial and error. Everyone’s brain responds differently. No medication works conclusively for every person. At this point I would like to make her an inpatient on our psychiatric ward. We can make sure that she’s receiving all the mental care that she needs in addition to the medical.”

“You’re going to put her in the nut house?” Dean made a face. “For how long?”

“Until I can be reasonably certain that she is no longer a danger to herself. I’m sorry gentleman but this is not a quick fix.”

“We understand.” Sam shook his hand. “We’ll be here for whatever she needs. Thank you.” The doctor nodded and left. Dean turned on Sam.

“Really? We’re just going to let him stuff her on a ward with a bunch of psychos and pump her full of crazy pills? There’s got to be a better way Sammy.”

“In this case the doctor is correct.” Castiel spoke from directly behind Dean, causing the man to startle.

“Damn it Cas! I hate it when you do that!” Cas ignored the outburst.

“Y/N is suffering from several severe forms of mental illness. As much as I wish to I can not simply cure her of them. There are underlying factors that she must process through before true healing can begin. She is most determined to resist this. She is convinced that the voice in her head is correct. Once that quiets she may realize how badly she needs the help being offered. She will require our support. After all, she is family.”

Castiel looked between the two hunters, waiting. They both nodded. They trusted Cas implicitly. If he said this was what needed to happen then they’d damn sure see it done.

For family.


End file.
